like Nine and a Half Weeks, Simple Passion, and Bluets, Bear is somehow extremely brief and unadorned and yet full of moments that I can only think to describe as rapturous. it is amazing the way that women write about lovers, as unbeautiful and selfish yet sublime and life-changing, especially contrasted with the flimsy reductions that male authors make women into in romantic relationships.

anyway, Bear is a great example of why the taboo exists only in relationship to the teller. after reading it, the central love affair seems like a matter of immediate necessity rather than a daring bit of shock value or experimentation. Engel's use of language is nonchalant and commanding, her depictions brief while leaving nothing out, and the resulting authenticity sent me reeling.

99% of books about male academics are them being sad losers while having affairs (Stoner is fucking incel garbage; I'm still willing to bet on The Tunnel but I've been hurt before; Daniel Pagenstecher are you the only real man) meanwhile female academics are out here having great sex and emotionally intricate experiences and then rewriting reality. hop in we're going to Canada.